


The Thing with Feathers

by naughthere



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Anal Sex, Blood Drinking, Blow Jobs, Dark Victor Nikiforov, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eventual Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, Hate to Love, Human!Yuri, M/M, Physical Abuse, Possessive Victor Nikiforov, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Slow Burn, Viktor hates Yuuri, Werewolves, a touch of stockholm syndrome, but then he doesn't, slowest burn ever, vampire!Victor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-07
Updated: 2018-10-16
Packaged: 2019-03-15 02:57:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13604103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naughthere/pseuds/naughthere
Summary: Yuuri's never met a vampire in his life.  He knows they're there, donates his blood every week, but he never wants to meet one in real life.That is, until he accidentally wakes up the immortal pureblood Viktor Nikiforov, and becomes his personal plaything.Vampire!AUPlease read warnings before reading





	1. The Second Coming

**Author's Note:**

> HELLA WARNINGS:  
> -NON CON  
> -BLOOD SUCKING (among other things~)  
> -VIKTOR IS A DICK (but he gets better)  
> -PSYCHOLOGICAL ABUSE  
> -PHYSICAL ABUSE  
> -EMOTIONAL ABUSE

 

_The darkness drops again but now I know_

_That twenty centuries of stony sleep_

_Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,_

_And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,_

_Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?_

_-W.B. Yeats_

* * *

 

 

The office was completely dark, the curtain drawn closed, engulfing the two figures in the blackness of oblivion.  But that wasn’t a surprise.  Sunlight weakened them, exposed their true nature.  Yuuri had long grown used to the eternal darkness of the mansion. 

 

He shifts nervously on his feet, his hands trembling despite his best efforts to stand still. 

 

 _Stop it_ , he snaps at himself, _they can sense fear_. 

 

They thrive off of it. 

 

Especially _him_. 

 

Yuuri tries to collect himself; he closes his eyes, takes a deep inhale, but the voice that shatters the silence steals the breath from him. 

 

“ _Yu-uu-r_ i.” 

 

He drawls out his name, sounding out each vowel until Yuuri can’t keep from shaking, trembling so hard he’s afraid the other will hear his heart flutter out of his chest— _knows_ the demon can taste the blood pounding through his vein.  He clears his throat and winces. 

 

“Y-yes, Master?” 

 

His voice breaks.   _Shit._ He knows what’s about to happen next. 

 

Viktor Nikiforov beams, flashing a gleaming set of sharp canines at his Donor. 

 

“I’m hungry.” 

 

Despite the darkness, Yuuri can practically hear the pout in his voice.  It’s terrifying, coming from somebody like him.  Someone who could—and _would—_ tear him into pieces with a smile.  Clenching his fists together, he walks with all the dignity of a man to his execution, until he’s right in front of the large desk that occupies the center of the room.  Biting his lip in pain, he unwinds the bandages around his neck, still wet with blood from his _last_ Donation, and turns.  He can’t see Viktor, but he can feel him, feel the cold fingers that trace up his jaw and brush against his wound. 

 

Gritting his teeth, Yuuri tilts his head, offering the long column of his pale throat.  He expects teeth and fury and pain, but Viktor doesn’t move.  Instead, his hands wind down Yuuri’s waist, stopping to grip his hips, and before he’s realized what’s happened, Yuuri’s face down on the office table, his hair caught in Viktor’s hand. 

 

Blinking wide in surprise, the dark haired boy manages to gasp out.

 

“Master?”

 

Viktor’s hands start moving again, sliding under his shirt, and Yuuri flushes and jerks back.  His hands feel like winter, sliding against his stomach, and although he scrambles to get away, Viktor is marble and granite and _ice_ and he holds him fast. 

 

“Yuuri,” Viktor breathes, his cold nose running up the side of Yuuri’s jaw, “I said I was _hungry_.” 

 

Yuuri frowns in confusion, not noticing the dangerous undertones in the other’s voice. Momentarily forgetting his place, he splutters, “I-I just offered you my _blood_ , what do you mean you’re hungry—”

 

He cuts himself off, eyes wide with fear as Viktor grinds against his backside.  

 

Oh no. Oh nononono.

 

This could not be happening. 

 

Viktor’s voice is smoke and velvet, all traces of humor gone as he tugs Yuuri roughly away from the desk.  

 

His eyes glimmer scarlet as they rove down Yuuri’s shaking body. 

 

“Yuuri,” he says softly, dangerously, “Get on your knees.” 

 

* * *

 

**Two Months Earlier**

 

Yuuri winces as the needle digs into his arm.  The nurse smiles sympathetically at him and he manages a crooked one back.  He watches with distaste as the red liquid drains out of his body, flowing into a tube and then a bag, like tributaries running into the mouth of a river.  

 

He looks away and shudders. 

 

He wishes he was giving away his blood for an honorable reason—to help others, to save lives—but he knows he isn’t.  He’s doing it for the money. 

 

After being diagnosed with hemochromatosis as a child, Yuuri’s contributed his entire family’s blood supply for years now.  It doesn’t matter to him—he would’ve needed to have his blood drained anyways—but because of his illness, he gives more blood than the average person, and as a result, he gets paid for it. 

 

But for some human families, the Blood Tax was too much.  When they could barely feed themselves, how were they expected to feed the beasts?

 

Nausea swells up inside of him, and it’s not because of the blood draining from his veins. 

 

It’s because of _who_ this blood will go to.

 

The vampires. 

 

He shoves his thoughts away when the nurse takes the needle out and presses a thick cotton pad to the crook of his elbow to ebb the bleeding. 

 

“Alright, thank you Mr. Katsuki.  We’ll see you next week, same time?”

 

Yuuri mumbles out a _yes_ , slipping his coat back on.  The nurse smiles, too bright and too stretched; a canvas pulled to breaking. 

 

“Your contribution makes our society _safe_ and _secure_.  Thank you for your generous Donation and your time.” 

 

Her voice is as fake as her words.  _Isn’t she tired of repeating the same lies every time?_

 

Yuuri doesn’t say anything, just walks to the counter and collects his money.

 

* * *

 

Yuuri technically is supposed to rest after a Donation.  It’s a legal requirement, actually, because what good would it be if your food supply died out after every recharge?  But his boss had accidentally scheduled him for work and he needed the rent money, anyways.

 

So after an eight hour shift at the café, Yuuri barely manages to shoulder past the waves of dizziness as he clocks out and leaves.  _I guess they took a little more than usual today, huh._ Pushing open the door, he shivers as the wind barrages him and he wishes he had brought a thicker coat. 

 

Instead, he wraps his scarf tighter around his neck and pretends it’ll actually make a difference.  His shoes crunch on snow and his frown deepens as he glances up at the sky.  _It still hasn’t stopped...?_ It was supposed to be almost spring already, but the white fluff had been falling down for a week straight now. 

 

Weird for Hasetsu, especially at this time of year.  And he wasn’t the only one who thought so.

 

There had been whispers in town, quiet rumblings and musings about the strange weather.

 

About the _cause_ of it.

 

 _He’s awakened,_ they said, _the snow is a warning: the monster, one of the oldest ones still roaming the earth, who killed thousands in the last war—_

_The Chistaya-Krov has woken from his slumber._

None of them dared to say his name aloud. 

 

Yuuri didn’t believe any of the rumors.  There were _actual_ monsters out there, ones who could actually hurt them—not myths to rationalize the unusual weather.    

 

Not to mention the fact that it’s impossible for a vampire to sleep for a century.  A few decades, maybe, but any longer than that and they would wither away to ash.

 

Everybody knows that. 

 

It’s because of that confidence that he doesn’t notice the strangeness of the snow, the way it begins to change in the dimming light, warping into something dark and ethereal.

 

Yuuri heads home, walking the same familiar route that he takes every day.  His work is only about fifteen minutes from his apartment, but today, the walk feels longer, colder.  He lives alone in Hasetsu; his family recently moved to Tokyo, and Yuuri had plans to joining them, but his boss insisted he stay until he found a replacement. 

 

Yuuri wondered when that replacement would come.  A few months have passed already and Hasetsu was only getting smaller.  Everybody was leaving.

 

Honestly, he missed his mom’s katsudon too much, and without his family, Hasetsu felt less like home and more like an aching, decaying body.

 

And he was rotting with it.    

 

He’s so caught up in his thoughts that he doesn’t notice the signs.  It was like Nature herself was trying to warn him.  The way the moon glowed unnaturally bright, shining like a beacon on him, urging him to run, the eerie quiet, where nothing could be heard, save for his light breath and the _crunch_ of the snow underneath his feet. 

 

Yuuri is oblivious to it all. 

 

There is one thing, however, that finally stops him in his tracks. 

 

The one thing that he should’ve run from. 

 

First, he notices the wisteria _._ For a second, he wonders if he passed out at the Donation Center and if this is all a dream, because there’s no way that wisteria could be blooming at this time of year, in the snow.  It’s beautiful, so beautiful Yuuri wonders where it came from, because he’d never seen it before.

 

And then he notices _him._

The tall, lone figure, staring at the lavender blossoms with a wistful and nostalgic gaze.  His long, silver hair whips out behind him even though there’s no breeze, and his porcelain skin practically glows in the moonlight. 

 

Yuuri stares for a moment too long, thinks with a blush, _He’s beautiful._ But the stranger doesn’t notice him.  Immediately, his mind jumps to the most obvious conclusion: a lost foreigner visiting Hasetsu.  Yuuri frowns in worry, noticing the other’s light clothing; he was wearing little more than a loose button-up and slacks. 

 

“Are you lost?”

 

Yuuri speaks in English, hopes that the stranger can understand.  He makes his way towards him, wondering if he can still call a cab at this time of night to take the man back to his hotel.  The man doesn’t respond, so Yuri repeats his question again, slower this time. 

 

“Do…do you need help?”

 

Slowly, the man turns, and it’s as if the world shifts with him, as if the sun itself determines its rotation around this stranger.  Yuuri stares, because he can’t help it, because the man is a _god,_ a silver Apollo carved from marble.  The foreigner smiles and it feels _wrong._ He shifts nervously on his feet, uneasy and confused.  Fear races through his veins, instinct screaming at him to run, but Yuuri doesn’t know why, or what he has to fear from this lovely being. 

 

Not until he speaks.

 

“The wisteria,” the stranger says, in a saccharine voice seeped in embers, “Does it always bloom in the winter?” 

 

His voice is too even, too soothing—like a predator trying to lull its prey into a false sense of security.   

 

Yuuri stares at him in confusion, his hair standing on edge.

 

“I…I don’t…”

 

His voice trails off as the pieces start coming together. 

 

 _He’s perfect_ , Yuuri notices with a start, _too perfect_.  His heart hammers in his chest as realization floods him with dread, threatens to drown him in panic. 

 

_He’s a vampire._

Yuuri manages to run two steps before the vampire is in front of him, materializing from the darkness like the god of war.  He takes in a sharp breath of air.  Yuuri _knew_ that they were fast, inhuman even, but he’d never imagined…

 

“Ah, so you noticed.”  The vampire’s voice sounds almost apologetic, but Yuuri doesn’t observe it, doesn’t see hear anything but the blinding fear pounding in his head.  Vampires aren’t supposed to be so close to a human territory.  They live enclosed in their own cities and lands and the peace is kept by the Donation Centers, where blood is sent daily to humanity’s monstrous keepers. 

 

They weren’t supposed to be _here._

“W-Why are you here?”  Yururi manages to gasp out, head spinning dizzily.  _Maybe if I pass out before he kills me,_ he thinks, _I won’t feel any pain._

 

The vampire chuckles like it should be an obvious answer.  “I just woke up,” he says calmly, azure eyes piercing into Yuuri’s skin, staring at him curiously. 

 

“That’s _impossible_ —all vampires in Japan moved to Khmurost City over a century ago.”  He doesn’t know where this courage to speak is coming from, only vaguely tries to buy time as he backs away from the monster. 

 

The silver-haired vampire smiles with something like sadness.  “Ah,” he says quietly, “Have I been sleeping that long?”

 

Yuuri stares at him with horror reflected on his face. 

 

It was impossible for a vampire to sleep for a century.  Without a fresh blood supply, they would wither away to ash.  Everybody knows that.

 

 _Unless_ …

 

“You’re the _Chistaya-Krov,_ ” he mutters, voice hoarse, “The pure blood.  You’re the missing one.” 

 

The vampire smiles sheepishly, and if he wasn’t so terrified, Yuuri would’ve laughed at how _human_ he looked.  “Yes…well, I did tell Yakov that I was going to take a nap.”

 

Then his eyes narrow into diamond sapphires and his shift in mood makes the temperature plunge a few degrees.  “I really don’t like humans,” he begins slowly, advancing towards Yuuri, “And I _despise_ the fact that we need your blood in order to survive.  But it’s the truth, and since I’ve just awakened, I find that I’m _quite_ starving.”

 

Yuuri backs away slowly, terror eating away at his soul when he realizes what the other was saying. 

 

He manages to take a single step before Viktor grabs him by the wrist and bends low over him, caging him within his arms.  From afar, it looks almost like a lover’s embrace, trapped in an eternal snow globe—if you didn’t count the hatred burning in Viktor’s cerulean eyes or the fear stricken in Yuuri’s face.

 

Viktor pauses for a moment, stares at the terror reflected in Yuuri’s dark eyes, feels the hummingbird pulse beneath him, and he _smiles._

Yuuri screams before his teeth even scrape his neck. 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Tyger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone for the comments and kudos! I'm glad you guys like this because I wasn't too sure about this story lol. Anywho, here's the next chapter!

_When the stars threw down their spears_

_And water'd heaven with their tears:_

_Did he smile his work to see?_

_Did he who made the Lamb make thee?_

-William Blake

* * *

 

 

Yuuri expected to feel pain.

 

The stories say that a vampire bite is the most excruciating thing a human can experience.  That most people pass out from the pain, or the terror alone.  Yuuri barely has enough time to prepare, to close his eyes as Viktor’s icy hands grip his waist, his neck—cold marble bending him to his will. 

 

And when the vampire leans down, Yuuri flinches, still anticipating the tearing of his flesh, the spilling of his blood, but Viktor…

 

Viktor _kisses_ his neck.

 

His lips ghost over the junction where his shoulder meets his neck, trailing down his collarbone, like a potter’s hands smoothing out the lines of clay.  

 

Yuuri shudders in response and he swears he can feel those lips curl up in cruel amusement against his skin.  He doesn’t get a second to ponder _why_ the vampire decides to do this—though he gets the faint idea that despite having starved in his sleep for the past century, this _Chistaya-Krov_ is still malicious enough to _toy_ with his food—because at that moment, sharp fangs pierce into his skin.

 

They say that a vampire bite is the most excruciating thing a human can experience.

 

They say that most people pass out from the pain, or terror alone.

 

But Yuuri—

 

Yuuri _moans._

The sound escapes him before he can stop himself, like he’s just taken a bite of something heavenly.  Even as Viktor draws in deep draughts of his blood, pleasure courses through his veins, thick and pulsing, until Yuuri can’t help but grasp at the other’s shoulders, unable to support his own weight. 

 

“ _Mmmn_ , a-ah…stop…!”

 

His mind screams at him to pull away, but his body won’t listen as it succumbs to the throbbing pleasure running through his veins.  He whines, frustrated that he can’t get away—that he doesn’t _want_ to get away.  Viktor finds that he likes the sound very much, even though the other is a _filthy_ human, and sinks his teeth in deeper, relishing in the little cry that Yuuri lets out.

 

His body arches despite himself, heat simmering in the pit of his stomach and spreading to his groin until he can’t help but buck against the long leg between his thighs.  Yuuri whimpers, the sound reverberating in the still air before them and it makes Viktor freeze momentarily at how _delicious_ it sounds.  The vampire smirks against his skin, surprised, but pleased by the salacious reactions from the human. 

 

Even more surprising, Viktor finds that he wants to see him _shatter_.

 

Digging his fingers into Yuuri’s hip, Viktor grinds himself down against the other’s aching hardness, and Yuuri moans again, his vision flickering from the mixture of blood loss and pleasure searing into his skin.  The friction becomes unbearable, leaves him panting and desperate, and he wants to _beg_ the monster for more. 

 

But thankfully—or maybe not, he isn’t sure anymore—he never gets the opportunity to.

 

A wolfish whistle cuts through the night and the lust clouding Yuuri’s mind.

 

“I heard a rumor that you were back, Viktor.”

 

At the sound of his name, the vampire pauses, pulling away from Yuuri’s neck with a brow raised in question.  His lips are smeared with blood, dying them red as sin.  Crystalline eyes light up with recognition when they settle on the man who spoke. Immediately, his demeanor changes, face brightening into a smile.

 

“Christophe~!”

 

He drops Yuuri, like the human is no more than discarded trash, and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, smearing the blood across his face.  Yuuri falls to the ground with a _thud_ , his eyelids fluttering as he fights to stay awake.  Without Viktor’s support and the bite throbbing painfully, the blood loss finally catches up to him.  Despite the fact that he’s lying on the ground, Yuuri doesn’t even feel the bitter cold seeping into his bones, or the snow soaking through his clothes.

 

He just feels… _tired._

His eyes wander up to his attacker’s face—this alluring stranger, this vicious vampire—and he wonders for a moment how somebody could look so beautiful and so monstrous at the same time.  With blood still dripping from his lips, smeared across his cheek like gruesome war paint, Vikor looks like the Angel of Death himself.  Ethereal and fatal.  If Yuuri had any blood still left in his body, maybe he would’ve blushed.  Instead, he groans softly, brown eyes growing hazy as the snow continues to fall around them.

Still, he tries to stay conscious, though his treacherous body fights him at every turn.  Tries to pick up what the vampires are saying.  His vision is blurry but he _swears_ he recognizes the other blood-sucker, though he’s not sure from where.

 

He manages to pick up bits and pieces of their conversation. 

 

“…we are not allowed to feed on them anymore...”

 

“…is that so?”

 

“…laws have changed…you could be…”

 

A laugh, a cruel and startling laugh resounds through the cold air.  Before he succumbs to darkness, Yuuri barely manages to make out the words that Viktor says, but they still strike a chord of fear within him.

 

“We have _nothing_ to fear from the humans.  We own them.”

 

* * *

 

When Yuuri wakes up, he’s greeted by a sickly-sweet female voice. 

 

“Mr. Katsuki, it’s good to see you’re recovering well.”

 

Yuuri opens his eyes, his head pounding as nausea fills his stomach.  He tries to sit up in the hospital bed, but the nurse moves to stop him, “Oh, please be careful Mr. Katsuki.  You gave a little too much at your last Donation.”

 

Yuuri nods, too tired to argue; it’d happened before, when he needed the extra money.  After a day of rest, he would be just—

 

Chocolate eyes snap open in surprise.

 

“I-I’m sorry, what did you say?”

 

The nurse narrows her eyes at him for a brief second before her expression morphs back into a perfect smile—so fast that Yuuri thinks he might’ve imagined it.

 

“Your last Donation was a little _too_ generous, Mr. Katsuki,” she says with a fake laugh, one that makes Yuuri recoil inwardly, “You should focus on resting.”  She gestures to a cup of orange juice and a cereal bar placed on the bedside table.

 

Yuuri wants to protest, wants to say _something_ , but he has a feeling she knows exactly what’s going on—and she won’t hesitate to shut him up. 

 

That _is_ her job after all.

 

So he smiles, makes a joke about blood loss leading to weird dreams, and thanks her.  He eats the cereal bar and drinks the juice and stays in the bed until they deem him well enough to be discharged. 

 

Then he practically runs back home to his apartment, slams the door shut, and slumps down against it. 

 

Shaking, he lifts a trembling hand to his shoulder.

 

“Oh _god,_ ” he whispers.

 

His fingers trace against the two puncture holes on the left side of his neck. 

 

* * *

 

Viktor tears open the blood packet with his teeth and sniffs it delicately.  He inspects it for a few more moments before finally taking a tentative sip.  Immediately, he recoils, his nose scrunching up in distaste and he almost drops the bag.

 

“ _What_ ,” he says disgustedly, “was that?”

 

Across the room, Yakov sighs wearily and Chris barely manages to hold back a snicker. 

 

“It’s been a week, Vitya, you will have to feed sometime before you collapse.”  Yakov sounds tired and worn out, and for good reason too.  Viktor was a notoriously picky eater, and it seemed his time asleep only worsened this condition.

 

“But this—this _stuff_ tastes disgusting!”

 

The _Chistaya-Krov_ sounded eerily similar to a 7-year-old—not the vampire lord he was born and raised to be—and both Christophe and Yakov share a look of understanding, like parents raising a child who refuses to eat their asparagus.

 

“Viktor,” Chris says slowly, patiently, “Like we’ve explained before, you can’t just take a human’s blood anymore without their consent.  That’s why the Donation Centers were created, so we can exist in harmony with them.”

 

And Viktor—one of the most powerful vampires in history, prince of the Russian Territory, General of the Faberge Army— _pouts_.

 

“I will starve,” he bemoans dramatically, falling backwards like a fainting damsel, “Had I known my fate, I would’ve just died in my sleep.”

 

Chris lets out a bark of laughter and Yakov groans in despair.

 

Instead of drinking the bag, Viktor reaches for the cognac.  He pours himself a generous glass before tossing a few blood tablets in, dying the amber liquid red as wine. 

 

“ _Vitya_ ,” Yakov chastises, “You cannot survive on blood tablets alone.”

 

Yakov was right.  Viktor knew that. 

 

For a regular vampire—especially those vegan bastards who actually valued human life—blood tablets were a fine substitute.  The technology had advanced so far now that blood tablets were growing in popularity, especially with the younger generation.

 

But they could not sustain a Pureblood.

 

Every day that he went without drinking, Viktor could feel himself growing weaker.  He was already starved from a century of sleep and still, he refused to drink.  Although he complained about the _taste_ of the bagged blood, both Christophe and Yakov knew the real reason why Viktor refused to drink human blood.

 

The same reason why he slept so long.

 

The reason why the vampire who had everything, who was about to single-handedly win the Great War, disappeared for a hundred years without a trace. 

 

It’s because of this that Christophe makes sure to keep his tone light when he suggests, “Why not get a Royal Donor?”

 

The previous light-hearted mood in the room vanishes in a second.  Not even Yakov dares say anything.  Both of the Nobles stand waiting for a response from Viktor, every muscle tensed, taunt like strung wire.  The silver-haired vampire doesn’t respond for a very long time, just stands and sips lightly on his drink.

 

Finally, he speaks.

 

“I’ll never get another Royal Donor again,” he says quietly, “ _Never_. Do not ask me twice, Christophe.” 

 

“But what about the human who Awakened you?”

 

Viktor scoffs.  “That terrified fool?  He was a _snack_ to sustain me; he just happened to be there.  There’s no way he could be my—”

 

It’s Yakov who cuts him off.

 

“But your left hand,” he says somberly, “Look at your hand, Viktor.” 

 

A circle of gold was tattooed around Viktor’s ring finger.  From far away, it looked almost like a wedding band.  It had not been there this morning. 

 

Viktor scowls, aquamarine eyes flashing with anger when he realizes he can no longer deny the truth. 

 

“Find him,” he orders, “Find him so I can kill him and erase this mark from my skin.”

 

Christophe shares an uneasy look with Yakov before he responds.

 

“We already have.”

 

* * *

 

The week passes by in relative normalcy for Yuuri.  He recovers quickly and throws himself back into work and before he knows it, he’s almost forgotten completely about the ordeal. 

 

That is, until the seventh day.

 

Yuuri wakes up early as usual, dresses quickly for his shift at the café before running to the bathroom.  When he reaches for his toothbrush, an unusual glint catches his eye.

 

“What the…”

 

There’s a ring on his finger.

 

A gold wedding ring.

 

He is _not_ married.

 

So why does he have a wedding band…?

 

Yuuri tentatively reaches for the gold wrapped around his finger, startled when he touches smooth skin instead of metal. 

 

He did _not_ get a gold tattoo.

 

Yuuri stares at it and shivers.  One word resounds in his head, but he pushes that nightmare to the far back corner of his mind.  He _knows_ why it’s there.

 

And he chooses to ignore it.   

 

Yuuri quickly wraps a bandage around the obtrusive tattoo and goes to work as normal.  He chats with his coworkers as normal, makes coffee like normal, smiles like everything is normal.  Because he needs _normal._ Needs to pretend he wasn’t attacked by a vampire, needs to pretend that the government actually cares about the lives of humans, needs to pretend that he’s not bound to a deadly monster—

 

He cuts off his train of thought and reaches for the pot of hot coffee absentmindedly, ready to make the next order.  But there is no pot of coffee there.  Instead, his hand hits the burner.

 

He curses before he can help himself and recoils, pulling his burned hand to his chest instinctively.  Wincing, he quickly puts it under the tap, letting cool water run over it, and frowns when the skin turns angry red. Inwardly, he berates himself for making such a stupid mistake.

 

Even worse, his manager seemed to hear his cry of pain, because a moment later, the man is rushing over to Yuuri’s side. 

 

“Yuuri!” He exclaims, brows furrowing in worry, “Are you alright?”

 

The raven-haired boy smiles in a way that he hopes is reassuring, “Yes, I’m fine—it didn’t hurt,” he lies. 

 

The older man doesn’t seem convinced at all because a moment later, he’s ushering Yuuri out the door with directions to rest and put ointment on the burn.  

 

Yuuri slumps home, wandering in a mix of confusion and self-pity.  How could his life have changed so much in such a short time?  _Why_ did he have to cross that wisteria?  He's so lost in his thoughts that he doesn’t notice the presence of a figure following him until it’s too late.     

 

“Katsuki Yuuri?”

 

It takes a moment for the words to register.  Reeling, Yuuri turns around in shock.  

 

“Y-you’re the one who…”

 

He stumbles backwards and trips over the snow, landing awkwardly on his ankle.  Hissing in pain, he stumbles backward, trying desperately to get away.  Like a wounded deer hunted by wolves.

 

“Yuuri, please come with me.”

 

He recognizes the other man now that he’s not delirious with blood loss.  He’s one of the _Rytsar_ , high-ranking vampire nobles, the one who always spoke about bettering relations with humans on the news: Christophe Giacometti. 

 

He almost _liked_ him.

 

Yuuri hobbles in the snow, knows that he can’t, that he won’t get away.

 

But he has to at least _try._

 

He hears a sigh of exasperation before he feels Christophe’s cold hands wrap around his neck. 

 

“So sorry about this, love.”

 

Yuuri barely manages to catch those words because a second later, he falls, slumped in Christophe’s arms.

* * *

 

The first thing he notices when he wakes up is that it’s _cold._ Yuuri shivers, tries to bury himself deeper into the blankets, but strong hands lock themselves around his waist.  They feel like ice and he squirms, trying to break free. 

 

“Let go,” he mumbles tiredly, brain not processing what was happening. 

 

A low chuckle echoes low in his ear and a terrifyingly familiar voice whispers, “My, my, are you not afraid of me now?”

 

Brown eyes shoot open and Yuuri yelps, scrambling to get away as his mind immediately recognizes the hidden danger in the vampire’s velvety voice.  But the _Chistaya-Krov_ grabs him with inhuman speed, and before he can blink, Yuuri is straddled and pinned to the bed, staring into the cold eyes of Viktor Nikiforov. 

 

Immediately, Yuuri tries to throw him off, yanking at his hands and squirming underneath him.  Viktor chuckles, stares at him in a mixture of curiosity and disgust. 

 

“I’d stop doing that if I were you,” he says calmly, like he was discussing the weather, “I might get hungry—and not for blood.” 

 

Yuuri pauses as the words take time to process, his face scrunching up in confusion and Viktor almost laughs at how _naïve_ the other is, but when realization hits, the boy blushes a violent red and goes as still as stone.  Viktor chuckles, bringing both of Yuuri’s wrists above his head so that he can wrap a single hand around them. 

 

 _How cute_ , he thinks wryly.  Absentmindedly, his free hand starts tracing down Yuuri’s jaw, running over his bottom lip before stopping at his neck, brushing lightly over the mostly-healed bite mark.  Something like possession boils in the pit of his stomach and he frowns. 

 

“W-why,” Yuuri stutters, his eyes never leaving Viktor’s, “Why am I here?”

 

Viktor sighs, debating on telling him or not—because really, the human was going to die anyways—and lifts up his hand.  Yuuri squints in the darkness, but lets out a small gasp when he sees the gold reflected on the other’s finger.  The exact same place as his own.

 

“It’s a bit inconvenient, you see,” the hand traces idly down Yuuri’s collarbone, running against his chest, “Being bounded to a human and all.”

 

Yuuri chokes down the fear, ignores the burn on his skin from where Viktor touches, “What do you mean?”

 

Viktor sighs and his hand stills. 

 

“Yuuri,” he says, eyes gray like a dying sea, “I’m going to kill you today.”

 


	3. Kubla Khan

 

_That sunny dome! those caves of ice!_  

_And all who heard should see them there,_  

_And all should cry, Beware! Beware!_

_His flashing eyes, his floating hair!_

_Weave a circle round him thrice,_

_And close your eyes with holy dread_  

_For he on honey-dew hath fed,_  

_And drunk the milk of Paradise._  

_-Samuel Taylor Colderidge_

 

* * *

Viktor expects the human to scream (humans had _such_ annoyingly shrill voices) or cry and beg for his life, or _something_ , but the boy just stares at him. 

 

“Okay.”

 

It’s whispered so softly, even Viktor has a hard time hearing him.  The vampire blinks in surprise, stares at the trembling human beneath him, and suddenly, he’s _angry._

And he doesn’t understand why.

 

This boy, this fragile, stupid _human_ with his fraction of a lifespan, doesn’t care if he dies?  Shaking in fear of him, but unafraid of death?  He could hear his terrified heartbeat pounding down the hall, and yet, the boy is defiant in the face of his own demise.  _What a paradox._   It irritates Viktor beyond belief. 

 

“Aren’t you afraid?” 

 

Yuuri glances up at him, voice sickeningly honest, “No.”

 

Viktor snorts, puzzled by the strange human.  Unconsciously, his hand returns to stroke against Yuuri’s collarbone, tracing possessively against the bite mark.  After a few moments, he asks.

 

“Why?”

 

The boy doesn’t respond.

 

Azure eyes flicker down to Yuuri’s face, and to his surprise, Yuuri’s barely paying any attention to his words.  Instead, his cheeks are flushed, mouth parted open invitingly, and his eyes are hazy with a mixture of tiredness and lust.  _Interesting._ Viktor presses down harder on the bite mark, and as he expected, Yuuri shivers in pleasure, his spine arching slightly. 

 

 _Fuck_.

 

Before he can blink, Viktor pins Yuuri beneath him, his lips covering his, swallowing his gasp of surprise.  Viktor immediately plunders his mouth, unrelenting in his attack.  He wants to snap the human’s neck right there, because he’s so vulnerable, so _naive_ , but something stops him.  It takes a few moments before he realises what it is. 

 

It’s the fact that Yuuri _does’t care_.  He doesn’t care whether he lives or not, whether he dies by Viktor’s hand or someone else’s—and that utter lack of passion, of zeal for life—that keeps Viktor from killing him.

 

For a creature with such a short lifespan to just _throw it away_ …

 

With a growl, Viktor tears open Yuuri’s shirt easily, ignoring his protests as the buttons clatter against the ground.  He can hear his pulse, his heart hammering like wings against a cage, and his blood calls out to him with the allure of a siren’s song.  Viktor slides his hands down Yuuri’s chest, ghosting over his ribcage, and licks a trail down his neck.  He doesn’t dare take a sip of his blood now—doesn’t trust himself not to drain Yuuri dry. 

 

So instead he satisfies himself with teasing the boy senseless. 

 

Yuuri doesn’t how to react any other way than honestly, arching into Viktor’s touches like a wanton feline.  He pants as Viktor’s cold fingers ghost across his growing erection.  It isn’t until Viktor pulls at his trousers that he comes to his senses.  Whining as the vampire palms him through his pants, Yuuri arches his lower back, knowing that he should get away, but not sure if he can—or even if he wants to. 

 

“Stop, _stop_ , please,” he finally begs.

 

Viktor is relentless as he attacks his throat, nipping and sucking, but taking care not to break the skin, “Why?”

 

Yuuri whimpers, low and embarrassed and Viktor wants to take him right then and there.   If it weren’t for his next words, he’s absolutely certain he would’ve fucked Yuuri into the bed. 

 

“B-because I’ve never…”

 

That pulls Viktor out of his reverie.  The boy was a _virgin_. 

 

“You’ve never been fucked before.”

 

Viktor’s words are flat and although Yuuri flushes at his vulgar language, he nods, face red from a mixture of embarrassment and arousal.  Viktor laughs, his lip curling into a sneer. 

 

“You haven’t even _lived_ yet, Yuuri and you refuse to put up a fight?” he snaps, tearing away from the human, “You disgust me.” 

 

As he storms away, Viktor swears that when Yuuri craves life…

 

_That’s when he’ll take it away._

As Viktor disappears down the hall, Yuuri slowly recollects his thoughts, reaching blindly for his shirt and slipping it back on. 

 

When the tears start falling, he isn’t sure why. 

 

* * *

 

A lone figure sits in the darkness of the mansion, brooding, icy blue eyes flashing in the dark.  He swirls the glass in his hand, the ice clattering loudly in the quiet room as he takes another sip.  The alcohol burns as it slides down his throat and he’s glad immortality didn’t take this away from him too.  Outside, the weather worsens, the blizzard picking up as the wind screams against the window panes.  The humans were calling it the worst snowstorm in Hasetsu’s recent history.  The so-called meteorologists claim it was the result of changing wind currents blowing in from the Pacific.  

 

The elderly and the superstitious knew better.

 

Knew that the raging storm was caused by _him_. 

 

Viktor wonders if the human is freezing right now (because vampires had no need of heating so the mansion was practically coated in ice) and then grits his teeth.  He doesn’t _care_ if Yuuri dies in the cold.  Honestly, it would be better for him if he did, since he couldn’t—

 

A whistle breaks off his train of thought and he glances over to see Christophe rubbing his hands together as though he could actually _feel_ the storm.  The Swiss vampire staggers like he’s trudging through a tundra and Viktor is _not_ in the right mood to be playing games with his friend right now.

 

“Wow, what’s got you in such a bad mood?”

 

A pause.  His fingers grip the glass almost to the point of breaking, but instead, he downs the rest of the scotch before replying.  Christophe waits patiently, a knowing twinkle in his eyes.  An eternity later, Viktor grumbles his response. 

 

“I couldn’t kill him.”

 

A snort of laughter echoes in the room, like Chris didn’t predict this from the first moment he saw Yuuri. 

 

“What do you mean you couldn’t kill him?  You’ve killed _thousands_ of humans.”

 

“Yes, but he…” Viktor trails off, searching for the right words, “He just _accepted_ it.  Didn’t even bother to put up a fight.” 

 

Christophe grins, “Doesn’t that make it easier?”

 

Viktor rolls his eyes and reaches for another drink.

 

“You deal with him,” he says, taking a long draught, “I don’t have the patience.”

 

Christophe shrugs, his knowing grin widening as he nonchalantly responds, “He’d make me a fortune on the black market.  Pretty and hemochromatic?  Nobles will be hounding for him.” 

 

Viktor tells himself he doesn’t care, but the way his shoulders tense doesn’t go missed by the other vampire.  Chris chuckles, walks around the table and reaches for the bottle, pouring himself a glass of whiskey.  He takes a sip before changing the topic.

 

“They want you back in St. Petersburg.”

 

Viktor laughs.  “St. Petersburg was a _mess_ —I’ll need a longer nap if I return.  Besides, I’ve heard Yuri’s handling Russia just fine.”

 

“Then you’ll stay here?”

 

“The world doesn’t need another Pureblood.”

 

Christophe hums thoughtfully.  “You know, it won’t take long before everybody else knows you’re back.  You’ll have to make a decision by then.” 

 

Although Viktor shrugs, he knows his friend is right.  Knows he can’t hide from the world for much longer. 

 

“Maybe I’ll go back to the Corps.” 

 

Chris practically chokes on his drink. 

 

“You _hate_ the Corps,” he says in surprise, “You always tried to leave.” 

 

Viktor shrugs, warm brown eyes flashing through his mind for a moment, “Times are changing, old friend.”

 

* * *

 

Yuuri wakes up to the smell of spices and honey.  Eyes blinking open wearily, he pulls himself up, shivering slightly in the cold.  Across the room from him, a fire burns, crackling in the fireplace, and he wonders—dares to _hope_ —if Viktor was the one who built it. 

 

(Because _maybe_ he cares.  Not that it matters to him)

 

His dreams are quickly dashed by a bright smile and a soft gaze. 

 

“Hello!” 

 

Yuuri starts, jumping slightly from the loud voice, before catching sight of the speaker.  The boy doesn’t look much older than him, with his cinnamon skin and dark almond eyes, but Yuuri notices immediately that he’s a vampire.  Notices it in the graceful way he holds himself, notices it in the unnatural beauty and the lilting voice. 

 

 _A shame_ , he thinks, _I wanted to like him_. 

 

The vampire smiles apologetically, so human it throws Yuuri off for a moment, “So sorry!  Didn’t mean to scare you.  I’m Phichit, by the way.” 

 

Yuuri nods, not looking up, “Yuuri,” he mumbles. 

 

The boy—either too slow to notice Yuuri’s behavior or too smart to care—beams and Yuuri wonders how somebody so kind could be a vampire. 

 

There’s a beat of awkward silence before Phichit moves, a whirlwind of activity, pulling a steaming bowl of food from a cart he’d wheeled in. 

 

“I made you some _Tom Yum Goong_ ,” he says, and suddenly the scent of spices from earlier makes sense.  Phichit places the soup gingerly on Yuuri’s lap, “I hope you like it.”

 

Yuuri nods thankfully and takes a tentative sip before all but wolfing it down.  The spiciness drove away his sleepiness and _how long has it been since I’ve eaten anyways?_ Phichit beams in pleasure, glad that at least someone enjoyed his cooking.  The worst part about working for the aristocrats was that none of them actually _consumed_ anything—besides drinking blood and booze. 

 

Then again, Christophe enjoyed his cookies, so.

 

After finishing his meal, Yuuri sets the bowl aside and wipes the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand.  Meanwhile, Phichit tosses more fuel into the fire, snapping the wood like it was nothing more than straws. 

 

Yuuri clears his throat awkwardly. 

 

“Phichit,” he begins, “Can…Can I ask you a question?” 

 

The vampire smiles easily, “Of course!”

 

“Why am I here?”

 

Phichit stops moving, eerie in how still he becomes, like a breathing statue, and Yuuri knows then that something is wrong. 

 

“Didn’t…Didn’t Master Nikiforov tell you?”  Phichit asks quietly, golden eyes turning into liquid pools of sympathy.

 

Yuuri shakes his head, confused. 

 

“Oh Yuuri,” the vampire says, “You’re his Royal Donor now.”

 

A shiver of fear pierces through Yuuri and he stares at the vampire in shock. 

 

“V-Viktor’s…?”

 

He doesn’t say the word aloud, doesn’t _want_ to.  Of course, deep down, he suspected it the moment he woke up with the golden tattoo on his left hand, but it was never actually _confirmed_.  Now that his reality has been made clear to him, Yuuri doesn’t know how to react.  Doesn’t know what to _do._

 

A Royal Donor was nothing more than a pet to a Pureblood.  They were just an unlimited food supply, born and bred to feed their masters.  Typically, they were chosen at the Pureblood’s fancy and were marked somewhere on their bodies to show that they were claimed.  But it was a mutual contract.  He _and_ Viktor would’ve had to agree to it before the mark would show.  He’d also never heard of a Pureblood being marked as well, but Viktor’s own tattoo, identical to his own, proved him otherwise. 

 

Despite the drawbacks of being a Donor, it was a position that many humans sought after, because it meant safety and security—nobody would dare hurt the Royal Donor of an _Chistaya-Krov_ , not unless they wanted a slow and tortured death.  It also helped that the families of Royal Donors were also handsomely compensated. 

 

But all of this meant nothing to Yuuri.

 

Because being a Royal Donor meant that he was bound to his master, serving as a food source—nothing more than a cash cow—for the rest of his _life_. 

 

Yuuri says nothing to Phichit, only nods when the other boy smiles at him sadly, clears the food away, and excuses himself.  He waits a few moments until he hears the cart clatter down the hall before springing to action. 

 

First, he pulls on boots and a coat from the closet, not surprised that they fit him perfectly, before going to the window and throwing it open.  The harsh wind howls at him instantly, but he refuses to be cowed. 

 

He refuses to live as a _slave_ for a damn vampire like Viktor. 

 

A cursory glance tells him that he’s about three stories up from the ground, and that the weather was working against him.  Already, he could see that the snow was about a foot deep, so he would have a hard time trudging back home.  It also didn’t help that he has absolutely no idea where he is, but _by_ _God_ , Yuri swears he’d rather freeze to death than be enslaved to a blood sucker for the rest of his life. 

 

It’s laughable how easy it is for him to tie all the blankets together (Phichit had given him a few more, just in case the fire ran out) and lop them outside.  Within moments, Yuuri is climbing over the window, scaling down in record time, before hitting the snow with an _oomph_ of surprise. 

 

He wastes no time running away from the mansion, his footsteps practically silent in the snow, heartbeat thundering loudly in his ears.  Yuuri heads for the forest, positive that they were still in Hasetsu because of the weather and their surroundings, and he’s confident that he’ll find civilization soon.  He treks downhill, glad for his natural athleticism as he trudges across snow and ice. 

 

He’s so elated, so high on adrenaline, off the thrill of escaping, that it takes him a few hours before noticing that something feels… _off_.

 

Before entering the forest, the storm was still raging, and the wind was loud and unrelenting against his ears. 

 

But ever since stepping foot into the trees, however, everything is _silent._   There are no birds, no animals, no wind, no _sound._   Even more peculiar, after moving deeper into the forest, the snow stopped falling.  And for some reason, that makes him feel more vulnerable than anything else. 

 

After another half hour of trekking, Yuuri takes a break, leaning against one of the trees and panting.  _Shouldn’t I have hit one of the main roads by now?_ He wonders, wiping his brow with the back of his hand.  Glancing up at the sky, he frowns in worry; it was almost evening.  He’d been traveling for most of the day already and he only just now noticed the slow descent of the sun.  Soon, it’d be night, and he wasn’t sure if he could survive a night out here alone.  Overhead, the moon, rounded to fullness, peaked above the tree line and the sight of it made Yuuri shiver. 

 

He’s so caught up in his thoughts that he doesn’t hear the approaching danger until it’s too late. 

 

“Lost, little boy?”  A raspy voice growls. 

 

Yuuri whirls around at the sound, arms raised and braced for a fight.  Dark brown eyes meet glimmering yellow orbs and Yuuri doesn’t know whether to laugh at his _horrible_ luck or to start running away immediately. 

 

_Oh fuck._

There was only one thing on this earth that was worse than vampires…

 

And currently, he was facing the werewolf, in the darkness, on the night of a full moon. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHHH  
> I didn't even plan on including werewolves but then i was like..
> 
> why not?
> 
> Thank you all for your warm comments and kudos! You guys mean the world to me and I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Stay tuned for the next chapter(;


	4. XVII (I do not love you...)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY MAJOR NON-CON/RAPE TRIGGERS IN THIS CHAPTER.  
> MAJOR.  
> I WILL LET YOU KNOW WHEN IT BEGINS AND WHEN IT IS SAFE TO PROCEED.  
> PLEASE DO NOT READ IF THIS TRIGGERS YOU OR AFFECTS YOU.  
> IF YOU ARE UNDERAGE I HIGHLY SUGGEST NOT READING.
> 
> THANK YOU AND PLEASE ENJOY THIS ANGSTY PIECE OF SHIT CHAPTER.  
> feel free to talk to me on my new tumblr @naughthereorthere. I'm not really sure about this chapter, and especially not sure about the non-con part so I really want to hear everybody's thoughts.

 

 

_I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,_

  
_or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off._

  
_I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,_

  
_in secret, between the shadow and the soul._

_-Pablo Neruda_

* * *

 

**In case you didn’t read the note above, there are MAJOR NON-CON/RAPE ELEMENTS IN THIS CHAPTER.  I will let you know when those elements begin and when it is safe to proceed reading if this triggers you.  PLEASE PROCEED WITH CAUTION.**

 

Viktor drops a few blood tablets into his gin, swirling the glass lazily as the pills dissolve with a hiss.  He takes a ginger sip, ignoring the sting of the alcohol and the bitterness of the pills.

 

Idly, he wonders how long he can last like this—with only some feeble tablets to sustain him.  Honestly, he’s curious, to see when he withers away to dust.  He wonders if it’ll hurt. 

 

He wonders if he’ll finally find rest.

 

After all, he had no intention of waking up, before Yuuri accidentally Awakened him.

 

At the thought of the human, Viktor frowns.  It should’ve been impossible for a human, especially one as weak as him with absolutely no vampiric lineage, to even _contemplate_ waking him, never mind accidentally succeeding.

 

He wonders how the boy even managed to accomplish that.

 

Reaching for the glass, he pauses as the moonlight catches the tattoo on his left hand, making the gold glimmer like it was made from something solid—something real.  Icy blue eyes drift outside the window, darkening at the sight of the full moon. 

 

Even miles away from their territory, he can make out the sound of their howls and he sneers in disgust.

 

He would be tempted to pick a fight if he wasn’t so weak right now.  The _old_ Viktor would have, just to relieve some boredom—just to establish his dominance and push the Wolves back farther into their receding territory.  But now, the thought of violence makes his throat dry.

 

He wonders what happened to that old Viktor.  Wonders if he was still sleeping underneath that wisteria tree.

 

Or if he still existed at all. 

 

The werewolves were only a problem when they were in a group.  Unlike vampires, who mostly lived solitary lives, the dogs could pose a threat, especially when they formed a pack. 

 

At his prime, he could take on a pack of them on the night of a full moon, but now?

 

It stings his pride, but he’s not even sure if he could handle _one_.

 

He takes a draught of the wine and frowns as the wolves’ echoes grow louder—closer.  Much closer to his territory than they ought to be. 

 

_Strange,_ he thinks.

 

Something feels wrong. 

 

But he doesn’t know what. 

 

On his left hand, the gold grows colder. 

 

His instincts are proven correct a moment later when the door to the office bursts open and he almost snaps at the audacity of his lackey, were it not for the utter _fear_ in Phichit’s eyes. 

 

“Viktor!” he says, voice raised in panic, “I-It’s Yuuri. The wolves are attacking him…!”

 

Viktor doesn’t say a word, just takes another sip of the gin like Phichit wasn’t even there. 

 

Phichit takes a staggering step forward, “He’s in danger!  Don’t you hear me?”

 

Viktor snarls in annoyance and rises from his desk, the temperature in the room plummeting as Phichit stills, jaw sliding shut as he realizes just _who_ he was talking to. 

 

“If that _human_ is stupid enough to wander into werewolf territory, then I see no reason for me to save him,” he hisses, standing from his desk and slamming his glass down on the table with barely-restrained force. 

 

Phichit stares at him in a mixture of disgust and fear. 

 

“But he’s your Donor!” he blurts out, “You’re supposed to take care of each other!”

 

It’s a miracle that Viktor doesn’t snap the Thai vampire’s neck. 

 

“He means nothing to me.  Let the wolves deal with him.” 

 

Phichit hasn’t been working for Viktor Nikiforov for a very long time, but even he can tell that the Pureblood is lying. 

 

_Fine then_ , he thinks, his lips pressing into a hard line, _If he won’t go save him, then I will._

As he turns to storm away, Viktor raises a hand to stop him.

 

“Phichit,” he says seriously, “Under no circumstances are you to even _think_ about saving that human brat.  Those wolves would tear you to pieces.”  After a moment, he adds, softly, “He’s not worth it.”

 

Phichit doesn’t acknowledge him before he closes the door shut with a slam. 

 

Viktor finishes his gin in one swig. 

 

* * *

 

 

Yuuri skids behind the tree, heart pounding in his ears and fear pulsing through his veins.  His hands are red, almost purple, from scrabbling in the snow, but he can’t feel the pain or the cold—not with the monster chasing him. 

 

Yuuri knows the werewolf is toying with him.  Biding his time.  Waiting for _something_. 

 

(Or someone). 

 

“Shouldn’t you be paying more attention to your surroundings, pet?”

 

The werewolf’s slithering voice echoes right above his ear and Yuuri ducks as a clawed hand swipes for his throat.  He doesn’t manage to avoid the attack completely, as the wolf’s claws catch his coat cutting deep enough to score three lines of red across Yuuri’s chest.  He smirks, taking a step closer to Yuuri and licking his claws clean of the blood mockingly. 

 

“Thinking about your little vampire prince?” 

 

No, actually he wasn’t—because Yuuri isn’t stupid, or naive enough, to think that Viktor would come save him.  After all, he wanted him dead. 

 

So he doesn’t say a word.

 

The wolf arches a brow, grin growing wicked as he takes in the look of determination in Yuuri’s eyes.  “Not going to say anything?”  He presses, advancing a step towards Yuuri, “Ah.  Well, maybe if I make you scream, your little master might come faster.” 

 

Yuuri is athletic and fast, especially by human standards, but he’s no match for the dizzying speed with which the wolf lunges at him. 

He fights hard as the wolf hovers over him, kicking and biting.  He manages to roll to his side and slams his foot into his attacker’s face, with a sickeningly satisfying wet crunch.  The wolf howls in pain and Yuuri scrambles away, a thrill of triumph running through his veins.  But he doesn’t have enough time to dwell on his brief victory because a moment later, the wolf catches him by the ankle, digging his claws in deep. 

 

*******HEY TRIGGER WARNING AF HERE.  STOP READING _RIGHT NOW_ IF NON-CON/RAPE ELEMENTS DISTURB YOU.  I WILL LEAVE ANOTHER NOTE WHEN IT IS SAFE TO PROCEED.************

 

The wolf’s face is _murderous_ as he pins both of Yuuri’s wrists to the ground, his face bloody and wicked, teeth pulled back in a snarl reminiscent of a rabid dog. 

 

“I think I know a faster way to make your prince come here,” he purrs, voice malicious and cunning.  “Has he fucked you yet, human?”

 

With those words, Yuri panics—truly _panics_.  He kicks his attacker, tries to fight back against the restraining grip on his hands, but it’s no use.  The wolf has caught his prey.

 

And he plans on ripping him apart. 

 

Yuuri lands a sharp blow against the wolf’ ribs and though he grunts at the kick, he doesn’t stop, shifting so his hips are positioned against Yuuri’s, pinning him to the ground.  With disgust rising in his throat, Yuuri fights back the bile as he realizes the wolf is hard between his legs. 

 

“Scream for me, darling.”

 

He tears Yuuri’s coat clean off of him, leaving the black leather in tatters before he reaches for his pants.  Yuuri grits his teeth, refusing to make a damn sound for the bastard, swinging his leg in an attempt to kick his face again.  But it seemed the fucker learned a thing or two from his bloody nose, because he catches Yuuri’s leg and twists it excruciatingly under him, smirking at the pained expression contorted on his face. 

 

“If I fuck you hard enough,” he muses, eyes glimmering with sadistic excitement, “Will you make some noise?  Hmmm?” 

 

Yuuri bites his lip, stares down the wolf, and says nothing.  His eyes shine with the determination of a solider and the werewolf would be impressed were it not for the sheer anger he feels against the audacity of a mere human. 

 

He wants to make him _cry_.  He wants to break him down until he’s nothing but a sobbing mess.  And then he wants to throw Viktor Nikiforov’s ruined toy back at his face and laugh. 

 

The wolf tears Yuuri’s pants easily, leaving him exposed in nothing but a tattered shirt.  Yuuri flinches at the ripping sound—he’s only human after all—but the dogged expression and the grim set of his jaw stays true and he doesn’t break eye contact for a second. 

 

“Oh I know.  Since you won’t talk, let’s put that mouth to good use, hmm…?”

 

Yuuri glares at him, unwilling to back down, and the wolf cannot _stand_ the rebellion in those brown eyes, so he backhands him, hard enough to make his head snap to the side and blood well up in his mouth. 

 

Still, he doesn’t make a sound.  The werewolf growls, annoyance slowly mounting at the boy’s defiance.  Roughly, he forces Yuuri to his knees before he has a chance to recover, twisting his arms behind him painfully. 

 

The sound of pants unzipping makes Yuuri freeze in horror.  He thrashes, trying to get away, but the wolf has him pinned, and wrenches his head back, prying his mouth open with filthy claws.  Yuuri bites down hard against his hand, again and again, but the wolf only chuckles, digging his fingers in deeper and wrenching his mouth open wider.  Yuuri only has a moment to prepare himself before the wolf sinks himself into his mouth, groaning at the feel of the warm throat around him. 

 

Still, Yuuri doesn’t make a sound. 

 

Angry, his attacker thrusts himself into Yuuri’s throat, making him gag and choke around his cock.  Tears prickle at Yuuri’s eyes but he doesn’t let them fall—he won’t give the bastard any satisfaction. 

 

Time falls away and Yuuri finds himself dissociating from the experience altogether, until he feels the bitterness hit the back of his throat as the wolf finishes with a grunt inside his mouth.  He lets him go, releasing his grip on his mouth and wrists, and Yuuri falls to his hands and knees and promptly vomits.  He retches violently in the snow, heaving until there’s nothing left in his stomach. 

 

“Still not a word, huh?”

 

Yuuri looks up slowly, his eyes filled with hatred as they bore into the werewolf’s and the monster lets out a sharp laugh. 

 

“Looks like you leave me no choice, pet.”

 

He moves for Yuuri, grabbing him by the ankles and wrenches his legs apart.

 

************SAFE TO READ NOW!************

Yuuri barrels his fists against the wolf’s face with so much vigor it forces him to release his grip on his legs.  Twisting on his side, Yuuri smashes the heel of his foot against the werewolf’s collarbone and it breaks with a lovely _crunch_ of bone.   

 

The wolf staggers back and howls in pain, before lunging for Yuuri again.  He extends his claws out, rage contorting his face into something monstrous, and forgoes his original plan as bloodlust overtakes him.  He grabs Yuuri’s throat, cutting off his flow of oxygen and leaves him scrabbling against his hands as he lifts him above the ground, feet dangling and kicking uselessly against him. 

 

“I’m going to _kill_ you,” he snarls, eyes growing red as his features grow more wolfish.  Yuuri struggles for breath, vision growing spotty as he flounders at the tightening grip around his neck. 

 

He feels himself on the verge of blacking out before he hears a scream and feels the spray of blood splatter across his face. 

 

Yuuri hits the ground, choking and coughing for breath, confusion clouding his oxygen-deprived brain as his throat spasms for fresh air.  It takes him a few moments to take a deep breath and a few more to piece together the image in front of him. 

 

There’s blood everywhere and a clawed hand— _was that the wolf’s?_ —lies discarded in the snow, and the wolf himself is on his knees, howling as he cradles his missing appendage against his chest.  Yuuri is so, so confused, heaving breaths of air, as his mind struggles to catch up, and it isn’t until he sees _him_ that he realizes what happened. 

 

“Ah, what do we have here?” 

 

Viktor’s tone is casual, but even a fool could hear the barely-concealed anger simmering beneath the surface.  The second Yuuri sees him, he can’t help himself—the tears spill over in his eyes, and the sob that he’d been repressing wrenches out of his chest.  Viktor doesn’t even acknowledge Yuuri’s presence, but he steps protectively in front of him, blocking off his sight from his attacker.  The pureblood smiles, showing the sharpness of his teeth, “I see you found my Yuuri.” 

 

And Yuuri, trembling in the cold snow with his clothes half torn off, can’t help but think of the way that Viktor calls him _my Yuuri_.  He knows it’s a lie.  Knows that Viktor doesn’t mean it.  

 

But still, the words soothe the shame in his chest and the aching in his throat.  Around them, the wind picks up and the snow falls in earnest, until they’re trapped in a terrifying blizzard that appeared out of nowhere. 

 

“You did this just to lure me here, didn’t you?”  Viktor’s voice is soft, barely audible over the howling of the wind, “A Pureblood encroaching on Wolf territory?  That’s a good enough reason to warrant war—and it’s within the law as well.”  His mouth breaks into a terrifying smile, “I’d like to see you try.”

 

The werewolf grins, his mouth wet with blood from Yuuri’s kick, and Viktor feels something like pride bubble in his chest. 

 

“Oh no, dear _Chistaya-Krov_ ,” the wolf says mockingly, gasping from the pain, “I would never attack you… _alone_.”

 

At his words, snarls of fully-transformed wolves appear from the darkness behind the trees, and bloodlust boils beneath the surface of Viktor’s skin.  He hadn’t felt this way in a long time.  _Good,_ he thinks, he isn’t sure if one wolf is enough to satisfy his raging desire to kill right now.  He counts them quickly, years of battle experience kicking in.

 

_One._

_Two._

_Five._

_Nine._

He plans on killing them all, rip their heads off and stake them on the trees outside their territory, so that _all_ the damned werewolves will know that he’s back. 

 

And he’ll make sure that they never touch Yuuri again.

 

The moon has risen high above them with the night and the fact that the werewolf who attacked Yuuri has yet to transform meant one thing:

 

“You’re the Alpha of this pack, aren’t you?” 

 

The bastard bows mockingly, his features growing wolfish as he grins, “At your service.”

 

Viktor grins, his eyes dark and hollow, “Then I’ll make sure to kill you last—after you see the rest of your pack torn apart.” 

 

The Alpha barely has time to blink before a pained whine echoes in the night.  Viktor moves faster than the eye can see, and before any of the wolves can react, he’s behind one, grabbing their jaw and wrenching it back.  In a heartbeat, he snaps the wolf’s neck, and it drops to the ground, lifeless. 

 

He smiles crookedly, a beautiful demon in the moonlight and Yuuri is reminded of the first night they met. 

 

_Eight._

 

He whirls on his feet, but the wolves have caught on, and howls of rage and hurt ring through the night.  One monstrous wolf dives at him, snapping and snarling with fury, and it manages to get a bite on his shoulder before he throws it off and stomps on its head, shattering its skull. 

 

_Seven_. 

 

The rest of the pack starts attacking in earnest now, angry, but careful enough to not attack alone, after seeing what happened to their brethren. 

Viktor grins at the pain in their inhuman faces, waltzing around their snapping and snarls.  He may have been thirsty for vengeance, but even he was not a fool.  Viktor knew there was no way for him to take on a full pack alone, with how weak he was at the moment. 

 

That’s why there was always back up. 

 

There’s a pause in the air, and then, almost materializing out of nowhere, is Christophe, panting like he’s just run a marathon as he takes in the full debacle of the situation.  The wolves take a step back suspiciously, lips pulled back to show their teeth.  Viktor doesn’t pay them any mind. 

 

“Phichit told you?”  Viktor’s voice is pure amusement as Christophe moves to stand beside him, ignoring the snarling of the pack. 

 

“Yes, you bastard,” he replies, no trace of venom in his voice as he struggles to catch his breath.  Although he was mostly a pacifist, Christophe could hold his own in a fight when he needed to.  But right now, he could the repercussions of taking on an entire pack with just the two of them. 

 

“Viktor,” he says, voice low as his eyes never leave the wolves snapping at them, “We should go.  The two of us can’t take on an entire pack.  You’re hurt and more importantly, so is Yuuri.  Come on.” 

 

The wolves seem warier, now that two vampires have joined the fray.  Sensing that they’ve reached a compromise of sorts, they take a step back, still alert to the danger.  Even their Alpha seems to regard the new threat with sharp yet cautious eyes. 

 

Christophe grabs Viktor’s arm and pulls him back.  “Viktor, let’s go.” 

 

Viktor nods in agreement, “You’re right.” 

 

He’s the epitome of calm as he turns towards Chris, all previous vengeance fading along with the tension in his shoulders.  He takes a step to follow, and then he’s _gone_. 

 

There’s a scream and a spray of blood before anybody even registers what happened.  The Alpha’s decapitated head rolls to the ground, his body falling backwards into the snow with a _thud_ as scarlet splatters across the snow.  Blood drips down from Viktor’s bloodied hand and he smiles roguishly at the pack of horrified wolves. 

 

“Oops,” he says flippantly, “I’ve changed my mind—I think I would rather destroy your entire pack of mongrels.”

 

Christophe barely has time to curse before a wolf lunges for him with a deranged howl. 

 

* * *

 

It’s Phichit who pulls Yuuri from the blood-stained snow and it’s Phichit who wraps a warm cloak around his shivering body and ushers him back home.  Yuuri goes through the motions of it all, shock overtaking him as he nods numbly at the vampire servant’s soothing words.

 

It’s Phichit who leads him into a warm bath and makes him soup.  When he tries to convince Yuuri to eat it, the boy barely manages a sip before he’s vomiting on the floor, body heaving even though he has nothing to offer. 

 

Even worse, after he’s tucked away into bed by a very worried Thai vampire, Yuuri finds that he cannot sleep.  He stares lifelessly at the ceiling, mind replaying the events of the past day: at how weak he was, at how easily the vampire subdued him, at how he—

 

Yuuri barely manages to make it to the bathroom before he empties his stomach again, acid burning in his mouth as he slumps against the toilet, chest heaving for air. 

 

This goes on for three days and Phichit is out of his mind with worry.  Yuuri doesn’t sleep, doesn’t eat, doesn’t say a _word_ , despite the vampire’s attempts to bring him out of his shell-shocked state.  It isn’t until he insists on calling a doctor on the fifth day that Viktor decides to see for himself exactly how he was coping. 

 

He knocks on Yuuri’s door gently.  There’s no response, so he lets himself in, closing the door softly behind him. 

 

“Yuuri,” he says, glancing up at the human.

 

_Oh_. 

 

His eyes widen fractionally before he schools his face back into calm. 

 

Yuuri looked _terrible_. 

 

His face was pale and gaunt, his hair matted to his forehead with sweat.  He looked so hollow, so dead, so _unlike_ himself.  And for the first time in a long time, Viktor doesn’t know what to do.  He simply stands there, appraising the state of his Donor, and anger grows in his veins.  Anger at the damned wolf and infuriating anger at himself. 

 

He should’ve been there sooner. 

 

He could’ve—

 

He could’ve protected Yuuri. 

 

“Will you speak to me?” 

 

Yuuri doesn’t say a word and Viktor doesn’t push him.  He’s forgotten how fragile humans are, how unused to violence and bloodshed they are.  _Especially Yuuri_ —he remembers how the boy had just thought he was some lost foreigner when they first met, how sympathetic and willing to help he was.

 

What did he do to that boy?

 

After an hour, Viktor says he’s going to leave, and turns for the door.  He opens it a fraction, before Yuuri speaks for the first time in almost a week, his voice dry and broken. 

 

“Why did you come?”

 

He’s not talking about right now and Viktor knows it. 

 

Viktor pauses, hand resting on the doorknob.  After an eternity, he responds.

 

“Did you not want me to?”

 

Yuuri shifts in the bed, facing Viktor and looking at him with those sunken eyes.  Something pulls at Viktor’s chest, pinpricks of pain, but he doesn’t know _what_ the feeling is and he most certainly does not know _why_. 

 

“You wanted me dead.”

 

Viktor nods, icy blue eyes appraising the human. 

 

“I did,” he says softly, “But it seems I just can’t get rid of you, can I?” 

 

Yuuri doesn’t respond and Viktor takes it as his cue to leave.  He opens the door, but before he walks out, he says one last thing.

 

“Yuuri, it wasn’t your fault.”  He pauses before adding quietly, “I’m sorry I wasn’t there sooner.”

 

As he closes the door behind him, Viktor hears the first sob escape Yuuri’s chest, and he stands against the door, a silent guardian, until he hears Yuuri’s cries fade out into even breaths of sleep. 

 

And he knows then that Yuuri will be okay.    

 

* * *

 


	5. a broken appointment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! it's been a WHILE. but i am back(ish).  
> it might be hard to believe but i have been working on this chapter since march. literally 7 months ago. it just took me forever to figure out what i wanted to do with this story. I APOLOGIZE FOR THE SUPER LONG WAIT.  
> enjoy this new chapter! i threw in some free smut at the end for u lovely folks who encourage me to keep writing(;  
> ALSO, keep in mind the first chapter (hint hint)

 

_You did not come,_

_And marching Time drew on, and wore me numb,—_

 

_Thomas Hardy_

 

* * *

 

The Council’s meeting is _boring_ , as it has been for the past two decades.Nothing exciting has happened and yet, he’s still forced to be here—as he has every single month.Yuri Plisetsky leans back against his chair, blond hair slipping in front of his eyes as he shifts in his seat. He can even sense his advisor getting bored. _If she could be called one._ Standing behind him, Mila almost nods off as the American continues talking (he hasn’t stopped to breathe for the past two hours), and even his _son_ , Leo, looks ready to shut him up. 

 

“I believe the _Chinese vampires_ are the problem for our economy.If you would just lift the sanctions on blood farm imports…” 

 

It takes every ounce of his willpower not to roll his eyes into the back of his head.If the damn American mentions blood imports _one more time_ , Yuri might start a new war just to get them talking about something else.

 

Across the table, Guang Hong trembles in his seat, and Yuri almost pities the poor thing—the vampire was about half a century too young to lead the Chinese Empire.Too bad his old man kicked the bucket so early.Something about a mistress poisoning his wine?Unfortunately, this happened all too often within the vampiric world.

 

How _boring_.

 

In his head, Yuri debates coming up with an excuse to leave the meeting early.Maybe he can fake a sickness?No, vampires never got sick, and especially not a Pureblood.What if he just got up and _left?_ He purses his lips—not a good move, the Council might use it as an excuse for tariffs against Russia. 

 

Yuri’s so caught up in figuring out a way to leave the meeting that he almost misses the messenger who throws open the doors to the room and hurtles inside.

 

“Your Excellencies!”He bows once, then practically flings himself on the floor at the withering look Min-so Park of South Korea gives him.“I have news that requires your immediate attention!Please forgive my insolence.”

 

Yuri sits up straighter now, interest piqued. 

 

 _Please let it be something interesting._ A new plague, maybe? A human revolt?

 

The messenger clears his throat, then he begins to speak. 

 

“A few days ago, on the night of the full moon, an entire clan of werewolves was killed by a vampire acting alone.Now, the werewolves are demanding retribution; they want the head of the vampire who committed the act or they will declare war on us,” his eyes flash with fear, “ _All_ of us.”

 

Shock and disbelief reverberate from the countries’ representatives.It seems as though something interesting was finally happening.

 

The American screams something about fake news and _fucking_ J.J. agrees, bolstering the other’s antics.Yuri is _this_ close to snapping the Canadian’s neck, but Sara Crispino of Italy shoots them both an angry look (which works quite effectively at shutting them up) and thus, he isn’t forced to start a new war with North America just yet. 

 

Out of everyone, Guang Hong looks the most concerned.It made sense; the Himalayas were home to many werewolves and many of them lived in Tibet or by the border of Nepal.His brows are furrowed with worry as he says, “On the night of a _full moon_?That’s impossible, the only vampires strong enough to do so are—”

 

“In this room.”

 

Yuri cuts him off, speaking for the first time in the entire meeting.The leaders go silent as Yuri stands to his feet, icy gaze landing on the messenger.They might question his age, but they cannot argue his power.Although he is young, Yuri is just as strong, and smart (maybe even a little bit smarter, if Canada was anything to go by) as everyone else in the room.

 

“Where did this take place?”

 

The poor vampire shifts uncomfortably, clearing his throat before he responds.He takes a few moments to gather himself before blurting out, “Japan. It was in Japan.”

 

At that, everybody freezes.Yuri’s blood runs cold. 

 

“ _Japan_?Are you sure?” 

 

The messenger nods, his eyes brimming with fear, “Yes, t-there’s been a rumor circling around the humans...” his voice grows small, “That _he’s_ back.”

 

And then the room _erupts_.

 

* * *

 

 

“Vitya, you utter moron…!”

 

Viktor groans, slumped on the kitchen counter.He’s drank a week worth of blood tablets but his wounds _still_ aren’t closing— _damn_ that werewolf—and currently, he’s very tired, very annoyed, and not at all ready to deal with Yakov’s lecturing. 

 

Beside him, Phichit hums softly as he flips a pan of french toast.Viktor pouts enviously at the ease with which the younger vampire cooks, the kitchen brimming with the smell of cinnamon and sugar.Even with Phichit’s gentle instructions, Viktor had managed to burn an entire loaf of bread before the other vampire gave up, ushering him away from the stove and started preparing the breakfast himself. 

 

Seriously, he’d been alive for _hundreds_ of years, you’d think he could cook some damn toast—

 

“If you were going to attack an entire pack of wolves, bring more backup with you next time!Or better yet, quit starving yourself…!”

 

Viktor waves Yakov off nonchalantly and reaches for another sip from the juice pouch.For some reason, the damn blood tablets tasted better in orange juice.Sadly, he was on his last one (he makes a mental note to remind Phichit to buy more).He misses the straw with his mouth and glares at the container like it personally offended him somehow. 

 

Beside him, Yakov continues ranting like a noisy mosquito, buzzing by his ear.But unlike mosquitoes, he couldn’t just _kill_ Yakov, or tell him to shut up, because then Yakov would get even louder and rant for longer and Viktor’s head is already pounding and Yakov has the special ability to make any headache worse just by _breathing_. 

 

But it seems the older Russian finally picked up on Viktor’s blatant disregard in paying attention, because a second later, he erupts—in a very typical Yakov fashion.

 

“WHY YOU UNGRATEFUL—”

 

“ _Yakov!_ ”

 

Viktor shushes him immediately with a sharp look in his eyes, “Yuuri is _sleeping_ upstairs.”

 

Confusion glazes over Viktor’s face when Yakov actually _listens_ and clamps his mouth shut like a puppet, eyes widening in surprise. _Weird_ , okay, he didn’t actually _expect_ Yakov to do that, but—

 

Oh.

 

_Oh._

 

_Fuck. That’s why he shut up so fast._

 

Realization lights up Viktor’s face and he scrambles to speak, to make an excuse, to say _anything_ , but Yakov beats him to it.The older Russian clears his throat uncertainly, awkwardness apparent from his stiff and vague hand gestures,

 

“So he’s to be your Donor after all…?”

 

Viktor shakes his head so fast it’s a wonder it doesn’t fly off.

 

“No, no, no, _no_ …!It’s not like that!I _definitely_ still plan on killing him.I’m just waiting until he actually wants to live, is all.”

 

Yakov shakes his head in disbelief, “Very convincing.”

 

“I _swear_ , Yakov.”

 

“You referred to him by name.Didn’t you just call him ‘the human’ before?”

 

“I-I…nope.Don’t recall that.Who’re we talking about?”

 

Yakov rolls his eyes and says simply, “Just be careful, Vitya.”

 

He doesn’t need to mention what happened last time.The consequences of his last mistake hangs between them like a the blade of a guillotine.After a heartbeat of silence, Yakov speaks again.

 

“But Vitya,” he sighs, “They know you’re back now.They’ll want a word with you. _He’ll_ probably try to kill you, you know that right?”

 

Viktor laughs, “Oh maybe the little tiger has finally grown some teeth since I’ve been gone?”

 

Yakov’s voice lowers, “I’m serious, Vitya.Yuri won’t back down without a fight.”

 

Crystalline eyes light up with amusement, “Rest assured, I have no interest in returning to rule Russia, Yakov,” he pauses, a smirk growing across his face, “However, I am interested to see how dear Yuri is doing.”

 

“Good, you’ll see him soon.They’ve called you to the Counsel.Your little stunt with the werewolves has been spreading like wildfire.Even the humans will know by tomorrow.”Yakov’s gaze darkens, “They’re demanding retribution, Vikor.You better have a good excuse for murdering an entire pack of wolves in their own territory.”

 

Viktor’s smile widens, “Oh, rest assured, I do.He’s upstairs sleeping right now.They just need proof, right?”

 

There’s a split second of quiet as his words reverberate through the room and then—

 

Phichit slams the pan against the stove top as he pieces together Viktor’s plan first, his mouth pinched into a thin line.But he doesn’t say a word—can’t say a word—to the man who owns his life. 

 

Not even for Yuuri.

 

It takes longer for Yakov to reach the same conclusion, but when he does, he only sighs.

 

“Do what you want, Viktor,” he says, the lines on his face seeming more pronounced than ever, “But I believe you will regret this decision.”

 

Viktor hums softly, “He’s just a human, Yakov.They die in like sixty years or so, you know?”

 

Phichit’s gaze is hard and disapproving as he hands Viktor the plate of food—the Thai vampire had an eerie sixth sense for knowing Viktor’s true intentions, which was why he kept him around, even after a century. 

 

Yakov doesn’t know whether his charge is a genius or a fool, but all the same, he only sighs as Viktor plasters the biggest, fakest grin on his face and heads upstairs to steal Yuuri’s soul.

 

* * *

 

Bleary brown eyes blink open at the sound of tea cups clinking together and the rich scent of french toast flooding the room.Yuuri pulls the covers back and pushes himself up warily, vision fuzzy from his missing glasses and the darkness set from the thick blinds drawn over the windows.His stomach rumbles at the smell of the fresh food and _wow_ , _he really outdid himself this time_ —how did Phichit even know that he loved french toast?

 

It’s been a little over a week since the werewolf attack and Yuuri’s recovering slowly but surely.His appetite returned (to the delight of a certain Thai vampire, who immediately insisted on cooking _all_ of the foods) and he spent his days mostly reading in the library, or walking outside in the courtyard.During this time, Phichit never left his side, and Yuuri found that he really got along well with the vampire.In fact, he showed Phichit some memes for the first time he other day—to the _utter_ bewilderment of the vampire—and now he’d somehow managed to amass a following of several thousand followers on Instagram, despite the fact that he’d learned what the internet was just a few days prior. 

 

The poor thing thought _Shakespeare_ was still alive. 

 

A hot plate of toast and berries is placed in front of him and Yuuri sighs at the heavenly smell.He makes a mental note to convince Phichit to go jogging with him later (because he puts on weight _so_ easily and Phichit seems hellbent on making that his sole mission in life), but for now, he will gladly accept the food. 

 

“Phichit, you’re the best,” he mumbles, reaching for his glasses on the bedside table, only to frown when he finds them missing from their usual spot. 

 

How strange…he could’ve _sworn_ that he’d—

 

Smooth hands slide his glasses into place up his nose and he blinks.He’s about to thank his friend before he notices that it’s not Phichit he sees, it’s—

 

“Goodness, are you really that blind, Yuuri?” 

 

Viktor huffs, as though betrayed, his lips pursed in annoyance.At the sound of the familiar velvety voice, Yuuri jerks back, nearly knocking over the plate of food.Were it not for the vampire’s quick movements, he would’ve sent the toast flying on the comforter.Immediately, he doesn’t know why, but he pulls the covers over his head, curls up in a tight ball and hides.His cheeks are flaming and he’s confused by his own actions.He’s hiding like a _child_.What is wrong with him?

 

“Yuuri?”

 

Viktor pokes his head.

 

“Yuuri…?”

 

Viktor pokes his _ass_. 

 

“ _Yuuuu~uuuurriii.”_  

 

Viktor tugs at the covers and Yuuri squirms in protest, pulling back before Viktor all but yanks the blankets off of him.He shrinks away, his back hitting the headboard, refusing to meet Viktor’s gaze.The vampire sighs, and tilts Yuuri’s chin up with his fingers, until the human has no choice but to meet his eyes dead on.For the umpteenth time, Yuuri can’t help but redden. 

 

 _He’s too damn pretty_ , he thinks, blushing furiously as his eyes slide over Viktor’s face, the curve of his lips, the way his long hair falls in his face.Then, Viktor _pouts_ and Yuuri’s entire world ceases to exist.

 

Nothing like a near-death experience to make you realize that—

 

Yuuri cuts off his train of thought before it can go _anywhere_ , his chest constricting almost painfully.For the past several days, Viktor has been going out of his way to…well, _bother_ would be the best way to describe it—yes, Viktor has been bothering the hell out of Yuuri.As if to make up for the fact that he was almost killed by an evil, psychopathic werewolf, Viktor has been pestering Yuuri with every free chance that he gets and now they’ve established a weird…a really strange relationship, to say the least.

 

Yuuri doesn’t know what to make of it, but Phichit and Christophe keep shooting each other sly glances and then running off and snickering and it leaves Yuuri confused and panicky. 

 

Because Viktor is terrifying and seductive and bloodthirsty, but at the same time he also occasionally gets possessed by the soul of a needy three-year-old and now Yuuri doesn’t even know _who_ he really is.He has a theory going on with Phichit that the _real_ Viktor Nikiforov are actually two identical twins with complete opposite personalities.Because the other option would mean that Viktor is just completely unhinged.

 

And _then_ what should Yuuri do?

 

Usually, it goes something like this:

 

Viktor asks Yuuri to do something with him.(“Yuuri!Let’s go bake muffins!” or “Yuuuuuriiii, do you wanna build a snowman?” or even “Yuuri, let’s go skating!”).

 

Yuuri shoots him down immediately. 

 

Viktor pouts and runs away to nurse his wounds.

 

And the cycle repeats. 

 

(Because really, even though he acts like an overgrown toddler, at the end of the day, Yuuri sees Viktor as what he is: a malicious vampire with a penchant for ruining his life.)

 

“I said I was sorry, didn’t I?”

 

“You also said you were going to _kill_ me.”

 

“Oh…oh no, I still plan on doing that.”

 

“Then why are you so shocked that I’m scared of you…?!”

 

Viktor frowns now, staring straight at Yuuri like he’s some kind of complicated math equation he can’t solve. 

 

His eyes glow an eerie turquoise in the darkness and he murmurs softly, confusedly, “Because I’m Compelling you right now and it’s not working.”

 

Yuuri’s eyes widen in alarm and he recoils, flinching like Viktor struck him.The vampire lets him pull away, his eyes returning to their normal aquamarine color, frowning as he notices the human’s reaction.

 

_Ah.Perhaps I should have warned him…_

 

He sees the fear in Yuuri’s eyes and the apology slips out of his lips before he even realizes what he’s doing.

 

“Yuuri, I’m sorry.” 

 

(When was the last time he apologized? _Has_ he ever apologized to anyone, for anything?)

 

Now he’s apologized to Yuuri. _Twice._

 

Viktor expects to see the hurt, the trace of betrayal in Yuuri’s gaze, despite the human’s attempts to school his face into neutrality, but what he doesn’t expect is the pang of _regret_ that runs though him like an arrow.

 

 _Regret…?_  

 

What was regret, when you’ve lived a thousand years, when you’ve taken a thousand lives? 

 

Viktor didn’t know what regret was.

 

He only knew what his goal was.And Yuuri was the key to everything.So what if he got destroyed in the process?A human’s life means nothing.

 

Hazelnut eyes brim with hurt and Viktor wonders what that pain in his chest is.

 

“No you’re not.”

 

He’s right—Viktor isn’t sorry that he _tried_ , he’s sorry because Yuuri didn’t like it.

 

“Let me make it up to you.”

 

Did his voice always sound that pleading?

 

Yuuri sighs and slides down beneath the covers, pulling the blanket to cover his nose.His voice is muffled as he responds, “Viktor, you can’t just bribe someone into forgiving you.”

 

There’s a pause as Viktor considers his words.

 

“Then what can I do?”

 

Yuuri blinks at the earnestness emanating from the other’s voice.Viktor’s eyes are a sunrise over water, honest and pure and true, and Yuuri is just the night giving way to the morning, darkness and stars eclipsed by the sun in his eyes.He can’t help the way his breath catches in his throat, can’t help the way his heart constricts painfully in his chest.

 

He tells himself to snap out of it.Reminds himself that he’s just a cow to fatten for the slaughter. 

 

Yuuri clears his throat sharply and looks away, schooling his voice into some semblance of nonchalance, “You could just…never do it again.”

 

Viktor nods eagerly. 

 

“Done.”

 

Yuuri scoffs in disbelief, “Liar.”

 

“No, I’ve tried since the first time I met you.Compelling doesn’t work on you.”He pauses, then adds, “I actually made Christophe do it that time he um, _brought_ you here, and it didn’t work then either.”

 

Yuuri’s curiosity keeps him from picking up on the sheepishness in the other’s voice.

 

“Is…is that normal?”

 

Viktor shrugs nonchalantly, but he doesn’t meet Yuuri’s gaze.“Some humans are like that.Evolution and whatnot.”

 

 _Actually, there had only been_ one _other human in existence who could do what Yuuri can, and he’s—_

 

Viktor shakes away the thoughts before they can take root and turns towards Yuuri eagerly, “Anyways, time for breakfast!”

 

He holds a forkful of toast, gesturing for Yuuri to open his mouth so he can feed him. 

 

The human stares at him with dead eyes. “I can feed myself,” he says flatly.

 

“You’re injured, Yuuri.”

 

“My hands are fine?”

 

But then Viktor pulls out the trump card.

 

He pouts, ocean blue eyes threatening to drown him in tears, and Yuuri can’t help but drown in them.

 

“Fine,” he bites out.

 

He tells himself the grin Viktor gives him isn’t worth it.

 

Viktor pulls Yuuri onto his lap, despite the other’s protests.He smiles to himself as runs his fingers down Yuuri’s sides, a wicked tremor of satisfaction running through him at how the human shivers in response. 

 

His smile grows salacious as he feels Yuuri’s full backside shift against him uncomfortably. 

 

“You’ve gained weight,” he states simply.

 

Yuuri stiffens,— _oh, he’d hit a sore spot, had he?_ —his face flushing a darker red as he wraps his arms around himself, trying to hide from Viktor’s piercing gaze. 

 

“ _Listen_ , Phichit won’t stop feeding me and my dad is from Kyushu, you don’t understand—”

 

Viktor cuts him off, voice lowering to a murmur as he says, “I didn’t say that was a bad thing.”

 

Yuuri opens his mouth and closes it. Then he repeats the motion, not sure how to respond.

 

Viktor laughs, the sound vibrating through the air, “You get ruffled so easily, Yuuri.I only speak the truth.”

 

“No, you’re embarrassing.And you like toying with me.” 

 

Viktor smiles again—when was the last time he smiled this much?—and his eyes soften as he says, “That’s because you aren’t afraid when you’re angry.” 

 

He doesn’t give Yuuri a chance to respond, because he’s suddenly dragging his hand under Yuuri’s shirt, reveling in the gasp of surprise he jerks from his lips.The vampire takes that moment to grab Yuuri’s chin, pulling him in for a deep kiss.While he’s distracted, his fingers thumb against his nipple, and Yuuri stutters out a quiet moan.

 

“Viktor, Viktor _stop_.” 

 

The vampire grins, pressing his nose against Yuuri’s neck, breathing in the alluring scent of his blood.

 

“I told you, it’s time for breakfast.”

 

With those words, he lifts the fork to Yuuri’s lips, watching as they part to take the toast, syrup dripping down his chin.

 

The human struggles to fit the entire piece in his mouth, nearly choking as Viktor forces it in.“Every single bite, Yuuri. Let’s not waste food, hmm?”

 

Yuuri chews slowly, moaning lightly at the sweet taste of syrup on his tongue.

 

Viktor’s eyes darken.“Is it that good, Yuuri?”

 

Mouth too full to respond, Yuuri nods.

 

At that moment Viktor pulls Yuuri to his lap, the human’s back against his chest.He drags his nose against the column of Yuuri’s neck, inhaling sharply.The way Yuuri stiffens and inclines his neck more by a fraction does not go missed by the vampire.

 

“I’m not going to bite you, unless you beg, Yuuri,” Viktor purrs, voice the sound of velvet rubbing against skin.

 

Yuuki swallows his food before replying embarrassedly, “I-I never said I wanted you to bite me.”But even his own protests sound weak to his ears.

 

Viktor smiles wickedly, hands grabbing Yuuri’s hips with enough force to bruise as he presses his lips against the human’s.Yuuri jerks in surprise, and Viktor takes the opportunity to plunder his mouth.Viktor decides that Yuuri tastes like syrup, smoke, and sin. 

 

And Viktor’s never really believed in repentance.

 

He snakes his hand down Yuuri’s chest, and tears open his shirt.Yuuri gasps in shock, and the vampire takes the opportunity to shove another forkful of toast into his mouth, making sure to smear it across his lips.

 

Victor’s tempted—so _tempted_ —when he sees the syrup drip down Yuuri’s chin, and trail down his chest, but he refrains, just barely manages to hold back, from consuming the boy whole, right then and there.

 

Instead, he wants to watch him fall apart.He wants to _make_ him fall apart, in his hands, crying out his name.

 

Viktor grinds against Yuuri, the other moaning feebly as his aching hardness rubs against him.A thin glaze covers Yuuri’s eyes, his gaze wanton and alluring.Without preamble, Viktor snakes his hand into Yuuri’s pants, freeing his cock and wrapping his hand around it.

 

Yuuri’s response is immediate, his body arching like he’s been electrocuted as he cries out in a mixture of pain and ecstasy.

 

For Viktor, it’s intoxicating.

 

“This is what is going to happen, Yuuri,” Viktor says in a commanding voice, “I’m going to feed you and you cannot come until you finish all your food.”His thumb sweeps over the head of Yuuri’s cock and the human cries out, bucking against his hand, sweet syrup meandering down his neck.

 

Unable to help himself, Viktor leans down and licks a stripe down the trail of the syrup.Yuuri moans, cock twitching at the action and Viktor grins.

 

“Beg, Yuuri.”

 

When the human refuses to respond, Viktor begins to suck at his neck, careful not to break the skin.

 

“Ahh...ngh, Viktor...” Yuuri’s response is immediate, moaning deliriously as Viktor nips at his neck.The way he bucks against Viktor’s hand is nothing short of lewd, his body undulating against the vampire’s like a skater on ice.

 

“P-please, please Viktor.”Yuuri’s voice is wanton and desire and need and his blood thrums invitingly underneath his pulsing veins.

 

“Please what, Yuuri?”Viktor isn’t sure how long he can keep up this teasing, not with the way Yuuri’s blushing panting, rocking his hips against his thigh.

 

“Bite me, please, oh god—I need you to bite me.”

 

It’s the years of self control that keeps Victor from fucking him into the bed right there, but he responds immediately, leaning down to kiss his neck.

 

Yuuri keens as Viktor’s teeth pierce his skin, moaning aloud in bliss.The vampire gives a light suck, careful not to take too much blood.He groans as Yuuri continues grinding against his thigh, cock hard beneath his pants.As a Pureblood who’s been alive for centuries, Victor has the whole “rampant blood-lust” thing down to a science.A human bleeding out in front of him?He’s not phased.A century of sleep with not a single drop of blood? Child’s play.

 

But _Yuuri_.

 

Something about Yuuri’s blood—no, his very _being—_ drew Victor to him like a moth to flame, unafraid of burning to nothingness.He’s careful not to take too much blood, but Yuuri is delicious and Viktor has never _learned_ what moderation is.

 

On top of him, Yuuri whimpers and something in Viktor _snaps_ as he hears that sound.He wrenches Yuuri to the bed, climbing over the human, and gathers both of his hands above his head. 

 

Viktor’s hands snake down Yuuri’s stomach, wrapping his hand around it and pumping in time with his tongue running over the puncture wound.He runs his thumb over the head, and it’s almost embarrassing how quickly Yuuri comes.

 

“Viktor, oh...ngh, Viktor...”

 

Yuuri moans his name repeatedly as he comes over the vampire’s hands.Viktor can’t help but bring his fingers to his lips, licking them clean as Yuuki watches, a mixture of horror and arousal in his eyes.

 

“You taste better than blood, Yuuri.”

 

Viktor’s voice is thick with need, like lace against skin, but Yuuri’s suddenly too tired to pick up on it.His eyesight swims, the urge to sleep thrumming against him like the steady beat of a current.He groans weakly in response, leaning back against the vampire.His breathing slows as he shifts against Viktor, who has suddenly gone as still as death.A mist of tiredness falls over the human’s eyes, and Viktor wonders if he took too much blood. 

 

Ignoring the aching hardness in his pants, he sets Yuuri against the pillows carefully, the human’s breathing slow and even as he pulls the blankets over him.

 

By the time he opens the door to leave, Yuuri is already asleep.

 

And Viktor—Viktor’s eyes are blank as an unmarked grave when he holds up his left hand, golden ring thrumming in time with Yuuri’s heartbeat.

 

Ah, he wonders how devastated Yuuri will look after he’s done with him. 


End file.
